


A State of Constant Repair

by wallmakerrelict



Category: Old Kingdom - Garth Nix
Genre: F/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-29
Updated: 2011-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-07 02:45:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallmakerrelict/pseuds/wallmakerrelict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set between <i>Sabriel</i> and <i>Lirael</i>. Sabriel and Touchstone are having a harder time rebuilding the Kingdom than they expected. When their relationship becomes strained, Sabriel leaves Belisaere to come to the aid of a town with a broken Charter Stone. The work she does there, and the things she learns about herself and her family, teach her that anything can be repaired if one puts enough effort into it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted from 12/2010 - 12/2011

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sabriel and Touchstone meet with some ambassadors; it doesn't go well.

"Who are these ones again?" Touchstone asked distractedly as Sabriel straightened his waistcoat.

"The ambassadors from Navis," Sabriel reminded him, "And they'll be here in less than five minutes, so you'd better look presentable by then." Everything was ready for the meeting. Plans and schedules were drawn up and sat waiting on the table. Sabriel and Touchstone had situated themselves in one of the smaller meeting rooms of the palace in Belisaere; it was imposing with its stone walls and pillars, but not quite so forbidding as the Great Hall. Not that they could have used the Great Hall anyway, since it was in the part of the castle that hadn't been repaired, and was still a mess of fallen stone and blackened timber.

In the months since Kerrigor's defeat, the Kingdom had seen some real improvements. The Dead were still strong, but for the first time in generations their numbers were shrinking instead of growing. Everyone felt the fire of hope being slowly rekindled, especially in Belisaere. Under Sabriel's supervision, the Dead had been driven back, the aqueducts expanded, and Castle Hill reclaimed. The capitol was nowhere near its former glory, but it was a start.

Now that they had a base of operations, Touchstone needed to begin the long and arduous process of gaining recognition as King. He held the title by birthright, of course, but that meant nothing if the people refused his rule. Even in Belisaere there were plenty of people – thieves, slavers, extortionists – who had found a niche for themselves in the absence of the Royals and the Regents. Many would be glad to see Touchstone fail. Many more would be glad to see him dead.

That was why they were entertaining representatives from the larger cities all over the Kingdom. Since the fall of the Regency, cities like Navis, Orchyre, and Sindle had become like tiny Kingdoms to themselves, while small towns struggled just to stay alive. If Touchstone could gain the allegiance of the rulers of all the major cities, he could unite the Kingdom once more. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done.

Sabriel tucked Touchstone's hair neatly under the plain circlet he was wearing. His clothes, most of which had been found in the undamaged portions of the castle, were stately, yet modest. "We have flashier clothes, you know," she said, "We even found a proper crown. Don't you think that would make a better impression?" Sabriel felt lucky that she didn't have to worry about her wardrobe and what impression it would give. No one expected the Abhorsen to wear anything but her surcoat and weapons.

An answer came in the form of a gravelly voice over by the door. "No," said Karstel, "Don't assume anything. You don't buy a horse with a debt you haven't collected yet."

Karstel had been a lucky find. She came from a family of Charter Bloodline loyalists, and her devotion to the Royals and the Abhorsen was unshakeable. After she had proved herself time and time again in the early months, when attacks by Dead and humans alike were frequent, Touchstone had made her the Captain of the Guard. Of course, the guard she commanded was nothing but a couple dozen of her friends and a handful of mercenaries, but everyone hoped that once the people began to recognize Touchstone as King, more help would be forthcoming. In the meantime, Karstel was a permanent fixture by Touchstone's side, a mountain of a woman clad in leather armor.

Touchstone nodded to Karstel. "She's right," he said, "We can't appear presumptuous. Until we get these treaties signed, I'm no King. I'm just a kid playing dress-up."

Sabriel took his face between her hands. Every day they spent in Belisaere, he had seemed to become more regal until he was every inch a King straight out of the stories. "You're more than that," she assured him, trying to make him see what she saw in him, "You're the King by blood and by right. The Abhorsen and the Clayr recognize you and stand beside you. Show them that you belong here. Show them who you are."

"And who am I?" Touchstone said, smiling and running his fingers through Sabriel's hair.

Sabriel said as she leaned in to kiss him, "You are the ruler of the Old Kingdom, and of my heart." Then their lips met, and she lost herself in him for a moment.

She barely heard Karstel mutter, "Charter help me, you two are going to make me throw up."

Then the door creaked abruptly open, and all three of them snapped to attention. There in the doorway stood the party from Navis. The two ambassadors were a complementary set: one fat and one thin, both in silks far finer than what Touchstone was wearing. Two porters followed them.

By the time the door had swung completely open, Sabriel, Touchstone, and Karstel were standing in the proper arrangement with proper dignity. The Abhorsen, the King, and his bodyguard. But by the looks on the ambassadors' faces, they hadn't missed the more relaxed and intimate scene that had just been interrupted. Sabriel's heart dropped, and she could see the same chagrin on Touchstone's face. So much for first impressions.

"I hope we aren't intruding," said the thin man with a sneer.

"Not at all," said Touchstone, keeping his composure admirably, "Sit down, please. We have much to discuss."

The pair slid into the room and took their seats. Their porters stood ready at their backs, eyeing Karstel warily. She was a good head taller than either of them. The tiniest twitch of her lip warned them not to stare.

"Ambassador Gromba," the fat man introduced himself.

"Ambassador Sastek," said the thin man, nodding to Touchstone, "And I presume you are our host: Torrigan, allegedly of the ancient royal line?" Sabriel didn't like the sound of that. Their cooperation might have to be harder-earned than she had thought.

Gromba looked Sabriel up and down, but addressed Touchstone. "And this is your…?" His tone filled in the blank for him. Lover? Concubine? Whore?

Sabriel could see Touchstone's hackles rising, but she kept her voice calm and professional. "I'm no possession," she said, "I am Sabriel, the Abhorsen." Of course he knew who she was; he couldn't have missed her bells and coat. He was just trying to throw them off-balance. Sabriel shot Touchstone a glance, willing him to keep his head.

Sitting herself down across from the ambassadors, Sabriel tried to get things back on track. "You know our position, gentlemen," she said, "By the ancient treaties, Navis is bound to accept the rule of Belisaere as long as a royal holds the crown."

Touchstone took his cue to sit beside her and continue, "We understand that this is highly unusual, given my long absence. Much has changed since my mother's time. But I am ready and willing to accept the responsibility of my station. You can plainly see the strides we've taken toward reclaiming Belisaere. And we are not asking for much: some of your militia to help defend the castle, and your province's official recognition of my rule."

The ambassadors listened politely, but Sabriel could see herself and Touchstone reflected in their eyes: young, lustful, untried. Children. This would not end well, but they had to try.

"We have other things to discuss before you begin demanding the use of our troops," said Sastek coldly, "As far as I can see it, you have no real proof as to your heritage. In fact, this story about the young lady finding you in Holehallow sounds more like a fairy tale than reality. Tell us, what makes your claim to the throne any more valid than those of the other impostors who have sprung up over the years?"

"The Clayr have Seen that what I say is true," said Touchstone, "And the Abhorsen can vouch for everything that happened after Holehallow."

Gromba wagged a finger infuriatingly as he said, "The Clayr's words hold little weight with us. They have spent too long removed from the world, up in their glacier. They do not know what we have suffered in the centuries since the Royals fell, and especially in the decades since the Regency ended. Why should we trust them now?"

"As for the Abhorsen…" Sastek gestured toward Sabriel with an incredulous expression, as if that were explanation enough.

"He is the rightful King," Sabriel insisted, "You have my word."

"Yes," Sastek said, his eyes betraying exactly how little he valued Sabriel's word, "And perhaps if it were Abhorsen saying that, and not his daughter…"

Sabriel had to work to keep the fire out of her voice when she reminded him, "I am Abhorsen."

"I've rallied Belisaere," said Touchstone, trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground, "Things are better here than they've been in the last fifty years. I can do the same for the rest of the Kingdom."

"That's evidence of competence," Gromba conceded, "And luck. But it doesn't prove your blood."

"I remember things from two hundred years ago," Touchstone said, but he was just grasping at straws now, "Things no one else could know."

"And since no one else knows them," said Sastek, "They cannot be verified."

Standing abruptly, Sabriel gave it one last-ditch effort. "I understand that Navis has been on its own for a long time. It's admirable how your people have thrived in these difficult times. But others have not been so lucky. The Kingdom is still in turmoil. We need a King to unite us! And whether or not you believe Touch… Torrigan to be King by blood, he has more than proved that he is equal to the task. Perhaps the salvation of the Old Kingdom will come down not to blood, but to choice. Your choice. Choose now to recognize Torrigan as King, and we will restore the Kingdom to its former glory. Let this chance slip by and there may not be another."

But she could see that the ambassadors were unmoved. "We are sorry," said Gromba, getting to his feet, "But without proof of your birthright, we have no obligation to you."

"We wish you well," said Sastek as he joined his compatriot. There was nothing any of them could do as both ambassadors left the room. After the boom of the closing door, they were left in stunned silence.

"I think they knew what they were going to say before they even walked in the door," said Sabriel bitterly.

"It would have been nice if they had tried to hide it." Touchstone's voice was deceptively quiet, but his disappointment showed a moment later when he swept his hand over the table angrily, sending a goblet flying across the room and a storm of papers into the air. All their careful plans fluttered to the ground like snow.

Karstel tried to reassure them, "Navis is nothing. A bunch of frostbitten cowards. There are other envoys to meet with, other cities we can convince."

Sabriel leaned over and placed her palms on the now-empty table. "But how can we convince them?" she sighed, "Those two windbags may have put it as coarsely as possible, but they made some good points. We have no proof and no leverage."

Touchstone rested his head against his fist, still looking sour. "And it doesn't help that the one ally people might have taken seriously is apparently cast into doubt by virtue of being my lover." Sabriel winced. There was no doubt that the kiss the ambassadors witnessed had made her seem biased.

"So we need to show them what we can do," said Karstel, leaning against a pillar and picking her nails with a knife, "We'll keep cleaning up the city. My guards have rounded up five more slavers just this last week."

"No," said Sabriel, "We've already done so much, and it didn't change their minds. It's a start, but we need something bigger."

Touchstone suddenly looked pensive as he muttered, "Yes. Something they can't ignore." He stood with a sigh. "There's nothing more we can do today. I'll be in my study. Karstel, bring me reports from your guards on the towers. I want visual confirmation that our wards are holding the Dead back."

"Yes, sire," said Karstel, saluting as she left.

Sabriel followed Touchstone out, matching his pace as he went through the hallways toward his rooms.

"When did you start going by Torrigan?" she asked, trying not to sound confrontational. It was what the ambassadors had called him, which meant it was what he had put on his official documents.

He shrugged. "It's my name," he said simply.

"I know that," Sabriel sighed, "But I've always called you Touchstone. It's just strange to hear."

Touchstone kept his eyes pointed straight ahead. "You should probably call me Torrigan now too," he suggested, "Touchstone was fine before, but it's not exactly a dignified name for a King."

"Torrigan," Sabriel rolled the name over in her mouth. He had asked to her call him Touchstone when they had first met, and it was his right to ask her to call him something different. Still Sabriel couldn't help but feel a little insecure. What else would change now that he was a King?

"You look unhappy," Touchstone observed.

Sabriel shook her head and forced herself to smile. "No, you're right. You should be called by your real name," she said, "Actually, I was thinking about something similar. I want to be called Abhorsen from now on."

Touchstone looked a bit taken aback, but he kept his composure. "But…" he said, "That's your title, not your name. Don't you think it's a little, er, impersonal?"

Sabriel was quick to explain herself. "From what Mogget has told me, lots of Abhorsens have taken the title as their name," she said, "That's what my father did. I never even knew his real name until I looked it up in the records at the House. And the name means something. No one knows who Sabriel is, but all our allies and our enemies know Abhorsen."

"All right," said Touchstone, though his smile wasn't entirely happy, "Abhorsen."

As Sabriel met his eyes, she wondered if they had made the right choice. A name could be a powerful thing, and already Touchstone – no, Torrigan – seemed one step farther away from her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Touchstone is kind of a jerk, and Sabriel is frustrated.

Laughter and the clinking of goblets rang out through the dining hall. Sabriel was taking supper with Karstel and her guards. It might have seemed strange to an outsider that the Abhorsen would associate so closely with these rough soldiers, but to Sabriel nothing else would have made sense. These were her friends and closest allies. And though the food wasn't as fancy as what she could get at Abhorsen's House, the company was infinitely better.

"To the Abhorsen!" called out one soldier, holding up his glass, "For a brilliant rescue today."

There was a chorus of cheering and congratulations. When it died down, a young man in ill-fitting armor bounced a chunk of bread playfully off the helmet of the man who had started the toast. "I wouldn't have needed rescuing if you all had covered me the way you were supposed to," he insisted.

The boy's neighbor at the table grabbed him in a headlock. "No one told you to run off on your own, you little idiot. You were just lucky Abhorsen was there to save you," she said.

Sabriel held up her hand modestly. "We've almost finished clearing the Dead out of the city," she reminded them, "You all know how far we've come, and how many lives we've lost. I'll always do my best, just as I expect of you. But now is not the time to take risks." She gave the young man a pointed glance. "If we play this safe and smart, I think we have a chance of retaking the rest of the city without a single casualty."

A second, louder cheer rang out, and the meal resumed with renewed vigor. Insults and food were thrown back and forth freely.

"Alone? Is that what he's been telling you? He had the whole squad right there backing him up…"

"That's why you only ever get guard duty. Captain doesn't trust you with the real work."

"So she's got this club in one hand, see, and her own broken sword in the other, and she…"

"…you liar, you ain't never seen a Mordicant…"

"Hey, Abhorsen! Where's your sweetheart? I didn't see him out on patrol today."

Everything up until then had been said in good humor, but Sabriel's frosty gaze told the last man who had spoken that she wasn't in a joking mood. "You mean the King?" she said pointedly.

The man dipped his head, red-faced. "Of course, milady," he stammered, "Forgive me. I didn't mean anything by it." The collective shouted conversation went on.

Karstel leaned over to growl into Sabriel's ear, "Insubordinate little hooligan. I'll put him on midnight watch for a week."

"Thank you, Karstel," said Sabriel, sipping her water, "Although he's right. I haven't seen Tou-Torrigan all day. Do you know where he's been?"

Karstel shrugged. "Search me," she sighed, "I turned the castle upside down this afternoon and not a sign of him. Do you suppose we ought to start worrying?"

"Not yet," said Sabriel, though she was chewing her lip pensively, "He's no fool. He wouldn't put himself in danger at a time like this."

"If you'll forgive my saying so, milady," said Karstel, "He was foolish enough to go off on his own all day without telling either of us."

Karstel's words worked their way into Sabriel's mind, and by the time dinner was over she was beginning to get nervous. She went back to her rooms in a fog of apprehension.

Safe in her chambers was the only place she dared to take off her armor nowadays, and even then she always kept her bells and sword close at hand. As she stripped off her mail and replaced it with linen nightclothes, she kicked the small wicker basket at the foot of her bed lightly. "Mogget," she said, "Have you seen Touchstone today?"

Mogget stirred from the depths of the basket with a sleepy sigh. "I haven't even been awake today. Thanks so much for rectifying that," he said, his voice sharp with sarcasm. His eyes lit on Sabriel's desk, where envelopes were stacked high and spilling onto the floor. "You're a popular one, aren't you?" he added.

"Yes," Sabriel sighed, "One of the benefits of Abhorsen's House is that no one in their right mind would try to deliver mail there. Now that everyone knows I'm in Belisaere, they keep sending me requests." She sat down and opened one. It was from Qyrre, where they were being terrorized by a margrue. Another: there had been a plague in Ganel, and now all its victims were rising to attack the living. Another: in Callibe, people were being found flayed and drained of blood. All of them requested that Sabriel come solve their problems.

Sabriel pushed the letters aside with a heavy heart. Watching her, Mogget said, "Not what you were hoping for?"

"I don't know what I'm hoping for," Sabriel admitted, "But I know that I'm needed more here than anywhere else."

Mogget settled back into his basket with a yawn. "I'm sure you know best, Abhorsen," he said, and Sabriel couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Sabriel shut her desk, hiding the letters for now, and opened the door to find Touchstone standing there sheepishly. Her relief at seeing him lasted only until she noticed how slumped and pale he appeared. Still, he gave her a weak smile and a kiss as he let himself in.

"By the Nine!" she said, "What happened to you? Where have you been?"

"Sorry," he said, heading straight for the bed and flopping into it without even getting undressed, "I didn't think I would be gone so long. Karstel already gave me an earful for making you worry, so could we skip the lecture?"

"I'm not going to lecture you," said Sabriel, sitting on the bed next to him, "I just want to know what you've been up to." Her brow furrowed as she stroked his face lightly. He looked so tired.

Though he had looked like he was almost asleep, Touchstone's eyes fluttered open and his hand caught Sabriel's. "I'll tell you as soon as there's something to tell," he said earnestly but cryptically, "There's something I need to do, but I'm playing it close to the chest until I know more. All right?"

"Since when do you keep secrets from me?" Sabriel complained, but Touchstone had closed his eyes again and was asleep in an instant.

Without the heart to wake him, Sabriel waved her hand to dim the Charter mark that lit the room from the ceiling. The sudden darkness made her yawn, and in a moment her hard day of fighting caught up with her. She laid her head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped itself around her waist, and they were both deeply asleep in minutes.

Neither of them heard Mogget mutter from his basket, "Humans. Useless."

The next morning, Sabriel awoke to find Touchstone already upright and changed into clean clothes. He was standing by Sabriel's desk, holding one of the letters that had fallen on the floor. The bulk of them remained hidden under the closed desktop, but Touchstone was reading this one with a dark expression on his face.

"What's this?" he asked when he saw that Sabriel was awake.

Sabriel hopped out of bed and snatched the letter away from him. "Private," she said curtly, "If you're allowed to have your secrets, then I'll at least expect you not to go through my things while I'm asleep."

"They want you to go to Ganel," he observed, ignoring her complaints, "Ganel is far away."

The expression on his face was enough to make Sabriel hurry to say, "I'm not going. They can take care of themselves, and there's still so much to do here…" A smile immediately returned to Touchstone's face, and it was almost enough to make Sabriel forget her guilt.

"That's right," he said, "We have to focus on protecting Belisaere before we worry about everywhere else." He threw on a coat and moved toward the door.

"Are you going to disappear all day again?" Sabriel demanded, her hands on her hips and her tone only half-joking.

Touchstone backtracked to tip her chin up for a kiss. "I won't be as long today as last time," he said, "I promise."

"And how long will it be until you can let me in on this little project?" Sabriel asked, but Touchstone was already out the door.

"Be safe, Sabriel!" he called over his shoulder.

Sabriel stuck her head out the door and shouted down the hallway after him, "It's Abhorsen!"

Once again, Touchstone only returned late at night and went straight to sleep without answering any of Sabriel's questions.

It became a pattern over the next few weeks. On some days things would be as they were, with Touchstone planning and helping as always. The Dead continued to retreat, repairs on the castle progressed slowly but surely, and envoys from cities all over the Kingdom arrived to refuse their cooperation with varying degrees of rudeness. But more and more, Touchstone would be absent for days at a time, returning in a worse state after each outing. It was driving Karstel, who considered herself responsible for her liege's safety, to distraction.

"We should follow him one of these days," she confided in Sabriel, "I'd feel better if I just knew where he was going."

Though she inwardly agreed, Sabriel forced herself to say, "No. He deserves not to be treated like a child, even if he's acting like one. Let him play his games."

The next layer of frustration began a week later, when Sabriel was wandering down a hallway that she thought was deserted. Suddenly, she heard voices behind a closed door. Her first thought was that bandits had somehow sneaked into the building, and her hand went to her sword hilt. Then she recognized Touchstone's voice.

For a moment she wondered if she shouldn't intrude on whatever was going on behind the door, but then she screwed up her resolve and reminded herself that this was just as much her home as Touchstone's. There was no room where she was not allowed. Without so much as knocking, she swung the door open and stepped inside.

"… should arrive within the week. We should be able to increase your forces by half. If you've done this much with this ragtag lot, we'll just see what you can do with real trained soldiers." The speaker was a tall, bearded man in red silk. He was shaking hands with Touchstone while Karstel stood in the back of the room like a statue. On a wooden table there stood two goblets and stacks of paper that Sabriel recognized as the plans she had drawn up with Touchstone. Karstel noticed her first, and gave a tiny, apprehensive grimace.

Touchstone was about to reply when Sabriel's entrance distracted him. "Sabriel!" he said guiltily. But he hid his surprise well. He gestured to the man in red, saying, "This is the ambassador from Orchyre. He's just promised us a squadron to add to our guard."

"A pleasure, sir," said Sabriel, nodding to the ambassador but keeping her eyes on Touchstone, "I am Abhorsen."

"Of course you are," said the ambassador as he bowed from the waist, "Your work over the last months has been astounding. Word has reached us in Orchyre. I only hope we can help."

"You already have helped," said Sabriel with real gratitude. After a few more words were exchanged, the ambassador left the room, and there was silence.

Touchstone was the first to speak. "Sabriel, don't take this the wrong way."

He fell silent under Sabriel's glare. "It's Abhorsen," she reminded him with as much patience as she could muster, "Karstel, give us a moment please." Karstel didn't need to be told twice. With a speed that was impressive for her large frame, she slipped past the pair and out the door, leaving Sabriel and Touchstone alone. Only then did Sabriel speak again, "What is this?"

Touchstone had gotten over the initial shock of getting caught, and now he was ready to defend himself. "You were busy," he said, "So I took this meeting on my own. It was at the spur of the moment, otherwise I would have…"

Sabriel shook her head. "Try again," she said, "You knew I wasn't doing anything important today. You didn't even try to include me. In fact, I talked to Karstel not an hour ago, so you must have ordered her not to tell me about this meeting. Are you keeping everything a secret from me now?"

"Don't get carried away," said Touchstone, "It was one meeting, and it went well for a change! We should be celebrating!"

Sabriel wanted to be happy at their change of fortune, but she couldn't let this go. Not yet. "I've been a part of every meeting since the beginning…" she protested.

"Yes, and look how that's gone so far," Touchstone muttered.

There was a pause as Touchstone realized exactly what he had said, and Sabriel felt her lips press so hard together that they disappeared. "Are you saying it's my fault that we haven't gotten the support we hoped for?" she said, her voice rising.

"Of course not," said Touchstone, trying to backpedal, "I just think it's a better move for me to handle these negotiations alone. It makes me seem less reliant on you."

"Maybe you're right. And maybe that's something you should have discussed with me." Sabriel was on the verge of shouting now, even though she knew that wouldn't do either of them any good.

Touchstone didn't give an inch. "I don't need your permission for everything I do," he said, "I made a decision."

"You made a decision to shut me out, just like you've been doing for the last month!" said Sabriel, and shouting now, "I'm sick of it!"

She stormed out, but that night Touchstone came to her full of apologies, and she had to forgive him. They celebrated their small victory that day with a bottle of wine, and fell asleep wrapped around each other. Sabriel wondered if that would be the end of their troubles, but the next day Touchstone was back to sneaking off and dodging her questions. Orchyre came through with their promised soldiers, but the ambassadors from Sindle visited only to dismiss Touchstone out of hand. Even though they were still making progress, the air was tenser than ever in the castle.

More arguments and shouting matches flared up between Sabriel and Touchstone, and though they always forgave each other, Sabriel could feel her resolve weakening with each new slight. "I love him," she sighed to Karstel one day on patrol, as they cleared the last of the Dead out of the city, "But I can't live like this."

Karstel hid her worry badly as she tried to reassure Sabriel. "Everyone goes through good and bad times. We're all just under a lot of stress right now. Stick it out. Things will get better."

Sabriel was prepared to take her friend's advice, but then everything came to a head the next day when Touchstone was about to meet with another envoy. "I wish I could be there," said Sabriel as she saw him off. They had long since decided, rationally and mutually this time, that Touchstone would conduct these meetings alone. To Sabriel's annoyance, the word of the Abhorsen seemed to carry more weight when it wasn't coming straight out of the mouth of a young girl. But she was resigned to it, and she was willing to swallow her pride if it would help their cause.

"It's only temporary," said Touchstone, "They only object to us because it seems improper. Once we're married, it won't matter as much anymore."

Sabriel's smile froze on her face and changed to consternation in a split second. "Wait," she interrupted, "Married? Did I miss something?"

He looked at her, genuinely confused. "Well, of course we're getting married, right?" he laughed nervously, "You love me, I love you; it makes sense."

Sabriel was too flabbergasted to be angry. "Did it ever occur to you that I might want a say in this?" she demanded.

"I didn't think you'd be so opposed to the idea of marrying me," he said, crossing his arms defensively, "I didn't realize it was such an unattractive prospect."

"That's not the point!" Sabriel said, unable to keep the displeasure out of her voice. She tried to control her temper. At this rate, this discussion would soon become a shouting match.

"No," said Touchstone, his voice rising to meet hers, "The point is that I'm trying to get these people – people whose great-grandparents couldn't even remember the last time there was a Royal in Belisaere - to take me seriously as their King. All our plans rest on that, and I'm already at a disadvantage being young, illegitimate, and about two hundred years late. I can't afford to seem like some foolish, love-struck teenager. I need a wife, not a girlfriend."

"Keep this up and you'll have neither!" Sabriel snapped. So much for keeping her temper. "I'm not a piece you can move around the chessboard. I'm the Abhorsen! And in case you had forgotten, I'm trying to get people to take me seriously too. I'm nineteen and raised in Ancelstierre; do you think this is easy for me? That everywhere I go people don't wish I were my father? I need to prove myself! I can't afford to be seen as the King's trophy!" Her blood boiled a little hotter with each word until she had backed Touchstone against a wall and was prodding his chest with her finger. She knew she had to deescalate this fight before it got out of hand, but she just couldn't see straight to do it.

"That's not what I want!" Touchstone protested, looking every bit as enraged as Sabriel felt, "I just want you to keep your promise to me. You said you'd help me reclaim the Kingdom…"

Sabriel interrupted, "And what is it you think I've been doing? I've been here, Torrigan, every day. You saw that letter from Ganel, right? I have a mountain of letters like that! People are begging the Abhorsen to come help them, and I've stayed here with you because you said you needed me. And what have I gotten for it? I'm supposed to be the one you trust, but you just keep getting more distant. I never know what you're up to anymore, or if you even care about me."

"Of course I care about you," said Touchstone through gritted teeth. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself of the fact too. "I love you, Sabriel."

"Abhorsen!" Sabriel shouted, "It's Abhorsen! That's who I am now! It's who I have to learn to be! And instead of doing my job, I'm here taking care of you while you take me for granted. And now you want me to sign up to do this forever? To stay here supporting you while my own duties lie forgotten?"

"Of course not!" said Touchstone, "Stop twisting my words! You can still be Abhorsen after we're married."

"Oh, thanks so much for giving me your permission!" Sabriel spat.

Touchstone slapped a hand to his forehead in exasperation. "You know that's not how I meant it," he said, "Look, if you think you should be out there fighting Dead, then you should go!"

The words hung between them like lead weights for a moment. Then Sabriel said, more quietly this time, "Are you asking me to leave?"

The gravity of the situation had shocked Touchstone out of his rage too. But they had come this far, and neither knew quite how to turn back. "I'd rather you stay," he said weakly.

"But only if I marry you," Sabriel guessed bitterly.

Touchstone grimaced. They both knew his answer, and they both knew what the outcome would be. "Yes," he said, his voice full of regret.

There was nothing left to say. Sabriel turned on her heel and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sabriel leaves Belisaere.

Sabriel locked her door that night. If Touchstone wanted to apologize, then he could just squirm until morning. But the knock she was expecting never came. When she woke up and he still wasn't there, she knew that they had finally managed to screw things up for real.

She lay in bed. Her body couldn't sleep anymore, but her soul was too exhausted to let her rise. She only managed to get herself upright when Karstel banged on her door, yelling, "Breakfast, milady!" Something must have shown on Sabriel's face, because as soon as she opened the door Karstel's eyebrows twitched up and she said, "Is something wrong?"

Sabriel forced a smile. "No," she said, "I just overslept. Have you seen King Torrigan?"

Karstel wasn't convinced, but she answered the question, "Missing in action, as usual. Don't worry; he always turns up."

Sabriel nodded grimly and joined the soldiers for breakfast. She walked through the rest of the day in a fog. When she returned to her room that night, she was surprised to see Mogget stretched out on her bed, looking lazy but awake. He looked at her with half-lidded eyes and said knowingly, "Trouble in paradise?"

Sabriel swept him off her sheets and back into his basket. "What do you know about it?" she muttered.

Mogget fell into the basket with a hiss, but he quickly righted himself and continued. "That fat woman in the armor came by looking for you. Something about the boy. Is he going by Torrigan again?"

"Yes," Sabriel snapped, "You'd know that much if you were awake even half the time." She hated his superior tone and the way he refused to use anyone's name when he could replace it with an insult. It wasn't as if he didn't know what Karstel was called; his memory was perfect going back centuries.

Mogget shook his head. "Touchstone suited him better," he said, "He's still just a fool. Anyway, he's eating supper in the Great Hall as of ten minutes ago, if you want to go talk to him. And that's the last time I'll be acting as your message-taking service if you can't at least be civil." With that, he sank into the basket and out of sight.

Sabriel moved to the door. It would have been childish to avoid Touchstone. But then she hesitated, and looked back at her desk. With sudden conviction, she grabbed an envelope at random out of the pile and opened it as she walked.

By the time she reached the Great Hall, she had read the letter inside and was holding it loosely in her hand. Touchstone sat at the table alone, staring into his plate and looking like he was about to nod off. Sabriel felt a familiar welling up of affection and protectiveness, but she reminded herself of what she had to do. She entered the room and, clearing her throat, sat at the opposite end of the table from Touchstone.

Touchstone's head snapped up as if he were awakening from a deep reverie. A grateful smile lit his face as he greeted her, "Sabriel!" She didn't bother to correct him, but poured herself a glass of wine in silence.

Neither knew where their relationship stood at the moment, and the awkwardness was overwhelming. The silence persisted as Sabriel sipped her wine, breaking only when she said, her face like a stone, "There's a broken Charter Stone near High Bridge. Dead are gathering there. The people want me to help defend the city."

Touchstone's face was also unreadable. "How long will you be gone?" he asked.

"I don't know," said Sabriel.

There was another long, uncomfortable pause before Touchstone asked, "Are you coming back at all?" Sabriel thought she saw a flicker of desperation beneath his businesslike façade, but she couldn't be sure.

"I don't know," she repeated. It was strange to hear her voice sound so calm when her heart was twisting in her chest.

They ate the rest of their meal in silence, and the next morning Sabriel packed her things and left Belisaere without a word to anyone.

It was disorienting to be back on the road after months in the relative comfort of the ruins of the castle. Belisaere had almost started to feel like home. Traveling only reminded her of that terrible time just after her father had sent her the bells, when she was always on the run and haunted at every turn. But at least then she had had Mogget, and later Touchstone. Now she was alone, the sound of her footsteps her only companion, the way she had been during her mad dash from Cloven Crest to Abhorsen's House. Just the thought of that terrible night made her throat feel like it was closing up.

She wiped the beginnings of tears out of her eyes impatiently. Things were different now. She was no longer a girl barely out of school; she was Abhorsen. She feared nothing on these roads. The weight of her bells on her chest, the sway of her sword at her hip, and the buzz of the Charter all around her were all reassuring.

Still, she was lonely.

Suddenly, a sensation of movement at her back made her think someone had grabbed her from behind. In a flash, she wriggled free of her pack and turned to face her assailant. The road behind her was empty, but as her pack hit the dust there came a loud, indignant yowl. Sabriel, her sword half-drawn, watched as a pink nose poked itself out of the top of her pack. The nose was followed shortly by a ruffled-looking white cat.

"That was certainly uncalled-for," said Mogget.

Sabriel took a few minutes to get over her shock before saying, "What do you think you're doing in my pack?"

"Well," said Mogget, settling back inside the bag and kneading Sabriel's spare clothes, "You're the last Abhorsen, and you haven't found yourself a successor yet. I couldn't very well let you run off and get killed."

Sabriel swung the pack back up and kept walking. She said over her shoulder, "I'm not going to get killed. It's one simple job."

"They usually start out simple," said Mogget, his voice getting quieter as he drifted back off to sleep, "This way, if things get out of hand, you'll have me to save your skin. Just slip my collar off… Actually, you could do that now. Then you could rebind me with Saraneth and I wouldn't be so damned sleepy all the time."

Sabriel snorted in derision. "If I never have to take that collar off again, I'll die happy," she said, but Mogget was already asleep. Despite her annoyance at the intrusion, she had to admit that she felt better with a companion. Even if that companion was only waiting for her to make a mistake so he could kill her horribly.

The journey was long, but surprisingly pleasant. The mild autumn weather was much more comfortable than the snow Sabriel had had to contend with the last time she traveled by foot. Even more calming was the knowledge that there was no Kerrigor waiting to spring his next trap, no Mordicant on her heels. Her Death-sense had been honed over the months, so she had ample warning before the appearance of each of the few revenants that she met along the road. They were weak and desperate, and she dispatched them all easily.

When she had first taken up her father's mantle, she had been a scared little girl doing her best in an impossible situation. Shortly after Kerrigor's defeat, she had somehow become something like Touchstone's lackey, helping the soldiers clean up the city while he abandoned her for his own secret projects. Now, walking the land and facing all comers with her bells and sword in hand, she finally began to feel like a true Abhorsen.

Mogget rarely stirred, except to demand some food every now and then. By the time Sabriel reached High Bridge, she had almost forgotten that he was riding in her pack.

High Bridge was so named for the massive, arcing bridge that spanned the Upper Ratterlin. It was as wide as a house, with three separate levels. When the river was at its lowest, all three levels were exposed. During the heaviest of floods – the kind that could only be caused by the Clayr – the water would lap the feet of a person standing at the highest point. That way, no matter the state of the river, the bridge could always be a refuge from the Dead.

And so it had become. The town of High Bridge had once been situated just east of the bridge itself, centered on a Charter Stone. But since the stone had been broken, and the Dead had begun terrorizing the people, everyone had taken advantage of the safest place available to them. Countless people were crammed onto all three levels of the bridge, packed so tight that there was barely room to move. There were the healthy and strong alongside the sick and injured, alongside scattered livestock, alongside the elderly, alongside families with small children. In some parts of the bridge, the crowding was so thick that everyone was standing; there was no space to sit.

As she approached the bridge, taking in the sight, Sabriel was struck by how quiet it was. Some moaning from the hospital area, here and there a child crying, a rare conversation conducted in low whispers – compared to the massive congregation of people before her, the lack of noise was downright unnerving. These were people who had lived so long clinging to the tail end of hope that they had almost lost their grip entirely. They had nothing left to say to each other; they just sat and waited for a miracle.

"Abhorsen!" said a voice, and Sabriel looked to her right to see an elderly woman in a green robe approaching her. By the way people respectfully shifted in their already-tight quarters to make way for her, Sabriel guessed that she was the leader of the town. At her greeting, a rumble of voices broke out and dozens of people turned to see. The old woman reached Sabriel and held out her hands to her, her head bowed. "We hoped against hope that you would come. I'm sorry we have no hospitality to offer you," she said.

Sabriel took the woman's hands and bowed in return. "Never mind," she said kindly, "I'll make my own arrangements, and I'll do my best for your people."

"My people…" said the woman in a voice layered with despair, exhaustion, and the weight of responsibility, "My people are starving. We have fought hard, but the Dead are unending and we have no more ground left to lose. No one can leave the bridge; those who try never return. Our situation is impossible. Please, Abhorsen. We don't ask for much. Drive the Dead out of the town, and let us return home. After that, we will fortify and defend ourselves. We can hold back the Dead if we are given time to prepare." Sabriel had to respect the old woman's certainty. She had no doubt that this woman, given a chance, would organize a defense that would allow her people to hold High Rock.

But Sabriel had other plans. "I will," she said, "I will rid High Rock of Dead, and I'll do you one better. I will repair your Charter Stone."

She left the people on the bridge and made her way east, toward the abandoned town. As she got close enough to feel the corruption of the broken stone, movement against her shoulder blades and the pressure of two paws on her shoulder let her know that Mogget had popped his head out of the pack.

"Hungry?" she guessed.

Mogget sniffed, and Sabriel thought it sounded haughty until she realized that he was smelling the air. "Don't you smell that?" he said, "Even a human should be able to smell that. Watch yourself."

As the tops of humble roofs became visible in the distance, Sabriel realized what Mogget meant. The stench of rotting flesh wafted from the town, faintly at first, and then overpoweringly. High Rock was swarming with Dead.

"Stay in the pack," she said to Mogget as she drew Saraneth. She had never faced this many Dead at once before, but there was no hesitation in her step. She swelled with confidence. After surviving the final battle with Kerrigor, there was nothing in this town that she feared.

The sounds of shuffling feet, creaking bones, and guttural voices were all silenced upon the first peal of Sabriel's bell. She walked into the town, between the buildings, toward the town square with Saraneth's song as her companion the entire way. As she walked, she passed the still forms of revenants she had bound. Their eyes followed her with intense hatred, but their bodies were no longer their own. Sabriel could feel each soul as it fell under her power, and the effort of keeping them all in check made sweat break out on her face. They pushed against the binding, fighting to free themselves, but her will was stronger.

Most heartening of all was the sight that greeted her in the town square. The last of the Dead were scrambling frantically to get away from the deadly sound of the bell, and at the sight of Sabriel a great, terrified howling began. The Dead trampled each other in their haste to flee from the Abhorsen. In their wake they left the broken bodies of their fellows who were not strong enough to keep up with the panicked mob.

Once Sabriel had run from the Dead, but now they ran from her. It was a giddy feeling, most of all because she knew that if the Dead had all turned and faced her, she would have been powerless against their numbers. Her reputation had done the work for her this time. It was good to be reminded that, even though Touchstone and those stuffy ambassadors wouldn't give her her due, the Dead knew who she was and they feared her.

A few more minutes and the small army of Dead had disappeared into the woods, their screams fading and leaving Sabriel standing in silence. It didn't take her long to weave her way back through town, finding all the revenants who had been unfortunate enough to be bound and sending them to their final rest.

When only one revenant was left in town, the sun was just beginning to set. Sabriel, feeling the strain of her efforts now, held it in place while she drew the marks over it body. But she stammered, and the marks failed. She swiped her hand across her forehead, taking a deep breath. The combination of the work she had done and the proximity of the ruined stone was taking its toll, but she was more than equal to the challenge. She forced her hands to be still and her voice to be strong, and the marks came through clearly. The last Dead in High Rock was sent screaming into Death while its stolen body burned.

"The others will be back," said the familiar sardonic voice from Sabriel's pack, "And you've overdone it. You don't even have the energy left to cast a Diamond of Protection."

Sabriel returned to the town square and proved Mogget wrong, casting a huge Diamond with the stone just inside the northern point. Midway through the casting, she almost thought that Mogget would be proven right. The weight of the corruption surrounding the stone was crushing. But this was not the first time Sabriel had felt this discomfort. She calmed her mind, repressed her nausea, and reached deep into the Charter for the marks she needed. When she was finished her Diamond was bright and strong.

She made camp by dropping her pack on the ground and kicking her bedroll open. The nights were mild at this time of year, and she didn't bother with a fire. With a hard day behind them and the sun setting, Mogget curled up at the foot of Sabriel's bedroll and prepared to do even more hard napping. But Sabriel showed no signs of sleepiness as she approached the broken Charter Stone with a contemplative look on her face.

Mogget flicked a single eye open. "Aren't you coming to bed?" he asked, "You're not going to fix that thing in one night."

"I know," said Sabriel, "I'm just looking." With careful concentration, she was able to control the effects of being near the stone and focus on what needed to be done. The stone had once been tall, like a rough obelisk, but was now split down the middle. The two halves sat slightly apart, leaving a gap that was a hand's-width wide at the top and that narrowed as it went down. At the base of the stone, where it was stained with old, rust-colored blood, it was still in one piece. Sabriel could see the Charter marks on the stone, still and lifeless, but in them she could read hope. The Charter that had once flowed through this place was not dead, but merely damaged. In the remnants of the stone, Sabriel could see the places where the order had been disrupted, and she could see what she had to do to realign it.

Heedless of her fatigue, she placed her hands on the stone and began chanting Charter marks. She didn't know exactly what she was doing, but she thought she could feel a sense of rightness, of communion with the Charter. It didn't matter that she didn't know the exact marks; the Charter wanted to be put right, and it would guide her tongue and her hand. She even thought she could feel the stone respond to her efforts, becoming warm under her touch and glowing faintly.

Mogget was right: it would be a long, hard task. But Sabriel knew that she would succeed.

Touchstone wouldn't let her help him, and she couldn't repair what had been broken between them. But as she remembered the bridge and the sparks of hope her presence had ignited in so many eyes, she knew that here were people she could help. Here was something broken that she could repair.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sabriel overdoes it.

The Dead returned in the night. Mogget woke Sabriel with a paw on the back of her neck. "The Diamond won't hold against all of them," he observed, pointing out the flickering of movement behind the first row of buildings around the square, "What are you going to do?"

It was Sabriel's turn to be smug. "You wouldn't miss so much if you didn't sleep all the time, Mogget," she said, "We'll be fine." She let Mogget wait to see what she meant until the first revenant darted forward to hurl itself at the barrier of the Diamond.

It never got that far. When it was still ten yards away, it stepped on a patch of ground that gave way and glowed brightly under the pressure of its rotting foot. It only had time to look down in confusion before a small explosion left it twisting, legless, on the ground.

Before going to bed that night, Sabriel had set up a dozen such traps – Charter Marks for detection of the Dead linked to powerful explosive runes. Now they lay dormant just under the dust, invisible until triggered. Mogget cocked his head and stared at the downed revenant. Sabriel had a feeling that he could sense every Mark. "Clever," he observed, "But you won't be able to repair the stone and still have strength left to set those every night."

He was right; Sabriel had wanted to set many more traps, but she had exhausted herself after only twelve. It left sizable gaps in her defenses, and the next revenant to advance slipped through without triggering an explosion. Sabriel watched impassively as it disintegrated against the wall of her Diamond. Many more attacks like that and the Diamond would fail, but luckily the Dead gave up before that happened. After the next revenant to advance lost the left half of its body to an explosion, its fellows seemed to reassess their chances. Slowly, they slinked back out of the city and left the town square still and silent except for the upper half of the first revenant still flailing in the dirt.

"Maybe," said Sabriel, belatedly answering Mogget's challenge, "But we're safe for tonight at least." When the revenant finally laid still, the soul attached to it fading into Death, Sabriel was able to sleep again.

She woke with renewed vigor. She had a job to do, and the sun would keep the Dead from bothering her while she worked. Mogget couldn't be roused, so she left a bit of dried fish out for him before going to stand before the Stone.

After sleeping next to it, she felt that she had almost gotten used to the unease and discomfort the Stone brought. Sure, her hands were a little clammy and her head somewhat light, but she was in control. The Stone was waiting. She steeled her nerves as she began tracing Charter Marks, arranging the puzzle pieces of the broken conduit.

At first she felt the same sense of rightness and certainty as the night before, but after a few hours of work frustration began to seep in. She changed her method and angle of attack again and again, but the more she modified her work the more she saw that it was hopeless. She had approached it in the wrong way completely. Ruefully, she undid all her work, letting go of her end of the chain of Marks she had woven and watching the links fall and disappear.

"Bitten off more than you can chew?" came a voice from behind her. Sabriel turned to see Mogget chewing on the fish and watching her. He seemed to time his moments of waking to be most inconvenient for her.

"I didn't expect to get it on the first try," she lied, "It's not as if anyone really knows how to do this properly. I just need to keep trying." She turned back to the Stone and raised her hands back into a casting stance.

Mogget's voice continued nagging her even as she resumed her work, "Then you'd better figure it out quickly. You don't have forever."

Sabriel said nothing, but she knew he was right. Her arms were heavier than before, and her mind weaker. She had grown much as a Charter Mage over the last few months, enough to rival any in the Kingdom. But she couldn't endure this indefinitely. After a few more hours of forcing her body to cast Marks despite its protests, she found herself unraveling her invisible tapestry for a second time.

Every failure added to the strain until she could barely stand.

"That's enough," said Mogget, interrupting the beginning of Sabriel's fifth attempt.

"But I've barely made any progress at all!" she protested. A few of her Marks had held, but the vast majority were wasted, falling apart as soon as Sabriel abandoned them. She thought the door to Death had closed by a fraction, but it might have been her imagination.

"You're finished," Mogget said unequivocally, "Save your strength to defend yourself tonight."

Sabriel looked up for the first time in hours and saw that the light was already fading. How had so much time gone by without her noticing? She drifted back to her bedroll and collapsed there, surprised at how exhausted she felt. She considered re-casting her Diamond of Protection to insulate her from the Stone while she slept, but her pride wouldn't allow it. Irrational as the thought may have been, it seemed to Sabriel that sleeping in its shadow was a fitting punishment for failing to repair it. Besides, she wasn't completely sure that she could cast another Diamond if she tried. She was so tired.

When the sun returned the next morning, Sabriel opened her eyes and wondered when she had closed them. It felt as if she hadn't slept at all. In fact, she felt even worse than she had the night before. She glanced around at the square; small craters and torn limbs told her that the Dead had returned again, and that they had set off more of her traps. How many remained? And how had she slept through it?

It was a few minutes before she noticed that Mogget was watching her. She expected him to make some sort of comment, but he only gave her a pointed look, curled up, and went to sleep. It seemed that, now that Sabriel was beginning to feel the weight of her task, he was content to silently judge her.

Sabriel fought her discomfort and stood. Though she felt nearly spent, she resolutely approached the Stone again and thrust herself into the Charter. At first glance, the disruption seemed so simple, as if it were a split board that she could repair with just a few nails. But she knew that it was deviously complex. For every connection she renewed, there were ten more beneath that remained fragmented. Every movement, every Mark, took all of Sabriel's concentration, and soon she lost track of time and place. All she knew was the Charter.

She had begun that morning as if it were a last-ditch effort, as if she didn't have much left in her. But she was wrong; every time she thought she was finished, she somehow found a new reserve of energy and continued. Sometimes she stopped to eat or sleep, and sometimes she got the feeling that she had fallen asleep on her feet, still chanting Marks. She had thought that she would get used to the Stone's influence, but if anything it was only getting worse. Everything ached. Every movement felt as if she were embedded in sand. Every moment was a fight to keep from vomiting. But she had to keep working. All the force of will that had allowed her to conquer Death and master the bells she now poured into her arms and lips, commanding them to keep moving at any cost.

By trial and error, she found a sort of method to her madness. One by one, connections held. The stone glowed brighter, and the door to Death closed another inch. But suddenly that doorway began to look very inviting. Sabriel could almost feel it calling to her, calling her away from her body. Her repairs were holding, and would continue to hold without her. She could slip away for just a moment, into Death where her body wouldn't hinder her, wouldn't hurt her…

"OW!" Sabriel's own voice snapped her out of her trance. Though most of her work held, the string of Marks she had been working on fell apart as she whirled to find four neat, red lines on her ankle. Mogget crouched by her heel, the low sun making his white fur look orange. Sabriel found that she wasn't sure whether it was sunset or sunrise.

"I've seen many Abhorsens die," Mogget declared, "In an astounding variety of ways. It would be awfully anticlimactic if the last Abhorsen died because she worked herself to death."

Sabriel was about to shoot back a witty retort, but all that came out of her mouth was a breathy groan. Slowly, as if her legs had simply decided to stop working, she sank to her knees. It was several moments before she was able to speak. "How long have I been at it?" she said huskily.

"Three days, off and on," said Mogget, and Sabriel wouldn't have believed him if he hadn't looked so serious, "You need to get away from the Stone. It's killing you."

Sabriel couldn't argue. With one last effort, she pushed herself to her feet and picked up her pack and bedroll. As she staggered away from the stone with only a vague idea of where she would go, she crossed the boundary of her Diamond of Protection, and it disappeared with a slight fizzle. Sabriel froze. Too late, her dulled brain realized that she didn't have the strength to cast another.

Mogget saw the horror on her face, and seemed to wait to let her stew for a moment before he said, "There's an offshoot of the Ratterlin north of here. Not far, if memory serves."

Sabriel could only follow, wishing for nothing but rest. Despite Mogget's promise, the river was over a mile outside of town. By the time they arrived, Sabriel was ready to drop and sleep wherever she happened to be. However, while her tiredness remained, she could already feel the effects of the Stone fading. Her mind was sharper, and her body more responsive.

This part of the river was heavily fished, and there was an extensive series of docks extending over the banks. Sabriel staggered as far out onto the docks as she could before she collapsed in a heap, her body too painfully exhausted to sleep. The hard, soggy wood felt as comfortable as her own bed, and she didn't even mind her bandolier digging into her side.

It was a long time before she was able to fall asleep, and to her mind it was far too short a time before she awoke again. But as she stretched experimentally and sat up, she realized that she had regained much of her strength. The next thing she realized was that she was famished. Mogget was lying near her pack where she had dropped it. As she rifled through the pack, looking for food, he flicked one eye open and regarded her disdainfully. "A fine mess you've made of this," he commented, "You've lost three days trying to repair that Stone by brute force, and now you've wasted another day and a half sleeping. If you keep this up, we'll be lucky to be finished by summer. If you don't die first."

Sabriel was so intent on her food that she barely listened. But once her stomach was full and her mind focused once more, she demanded, "What did you mean by 'brute force.' Do you know of another way to repair a Charter Stone?" She realized belatedly that she should have asked him that before she had started. Better late than never.

"No," said Mogget, much to Sabriel's disappointment. And much to her suspicion, he didn't elaborate. "But throwing Charter Marks at it willy-nilly until you collapse is hardly a sane way to go about it, even if you have the excuse of not knowing what you're doing."

"I don't see what else I'm supposed to do," said Sabriel, "It's not as if there's a manual for this. I've already searched my library and the castle's for some reference. The Clayr might know, but they can't talk about it in any kind of useful way, and their library isn't what you would call easy-to-navigate."

Mogget yawned. "Why don't you sit here and complain about it some more? I'm sure that will help matters."

Sabriel didn't feel like getting into a battle of sarcasm with the master, so she fell silent for a while. When she spoke again, she had something else on her mind. "Who was the first Abhorsen?"

Mogget's ears pricked up, and for a moment he seemed to be at a loss for words. But he recovered quickly and said, "Why would you want to know that?"

"I'm trying to do my duty," Sabriel explained, "But I know almost nothing about my family. I can learn from them. And no one knows them better than you."

Mogget shrugged uncomfortably. "She was a Charter mage. A powerful one. Saraneth took a liking to her. What more is there to tell?"

Sabriel had the feeling that there was a lot more to tell, but she didn't pry in that particular direction. "And the others?" she prompted, "The ones who came after. What kind of people were they? How can I be more like them?"

"You're already quite like them," said Mogget, "Stupid, impulsive, young…"

Sabriel interrupted, "I won't be young for long."

"Not many of your kind live to grow old," Mogget snapped, "Where was I? Ah, yes. Young, naïve, self-sacrificing to a fault, completely incapable of seeing the big picture, idiotically trusting… except the ones who were idiotically paranoid. Incidentally, the latter tended to live longer, though they were insufferable."

"I'm sure you could list our faults all day," Sabriel sighed, "But could you tell me something more useful?"

Mogget considered for a moment before continuing in a less scathing tone, "The twelfth Abhorsen was tolerable sort of boy. He was called quite young – couldn't have been more than ten. He worked hard, didn't complain. Clever. A lot of potential. Pity he died so young."

"How young?" Sabriel wondered.

"Thirteen, I believe it was. Ambushed by a stilken. Not much left for his mother to bury," said Mogget flippantly. Sabriel suppressed a shudder. "His sister took over. She was useless, but somehow she managed to survive long enough to reproduce before that necromancer tracked her down and slaughtered her along with her lover and her children. Their cousin was called next. He was somewhat renowned for discovering a plot on the princess's life and apprehending the conspirators. Heh. Clearly he was better detective than a warrior, because a no-account revenant managed to catch him off-guard and tear out his throat. Pathetic."

"Stop telling me about how they died," Sabriel protested, "I'm more interested in how they lived."

"You shouldn't be," said Mogget, "How they died is much more entertaining, not to mention more relevant to you. You see, most of what the Abhorsen does is avoid death for as long as she or he can. Anything that happens along the way, however remarkable, is usually incidental."

Sabriel's mouth twisted impatiently. "You don't really believe that," she said, "It means something to be Abhorsen. Even you spoke of it as a calling."

"It's a set of abilities and a long, depressing legacy," Mogget replied, "As for what you do with it, there's no more a manual for that than there is for fixing Charter Stones."

Sabriel turned away from him, ending the conversation. So Mogget was in a mood to bait and needle her. She would ask again later. Because despite what he had said, she believed that her ancestors' lives could be a manual of sorts. In any case, it would be better than flying blind.

Wordlessly, she gathered her things and began the hike back into the deserted town.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sabriel despairs.

Sabriel tried to take Mogget's advice by attacking the problem of the broken Stone intelligently instead of straightforwardly. But by the time she resumed her work, her mind was not as clear as it had been out on the docks surrounded by water. Each little task had drained her – clearing the town of the few Dead that had wandered back inside, resetting her traps and her Diamond, approaching the now-hated Stone with its poisonous aura – until she felt almost as bad as she had when she had stumbled away from the town at Mogget's insistence days ago.

She tried, but in the end it was all she could do to throw herself at it, willing it back into place. Her magic was strong, but not as strong as the damage that had been done there. After a few days of work, she was forced to retreat to the river again so she could regain her strength.

The pattern repeated itself again and again. Sabriel cycled between working on the Stone and recuperating by the river for nearly a month. While the lack of progress was unspeakably frustrating, that month proved fruitful in other ways. At night when she rested, and during their travels between the Stone and the river, Mogget told Sabriel the history of her people.

He told her of men and women who had been great mages, or great swordfighters, or great necromancers, or great diplomats, or great teachers. Sabriel had always thought of her ancestors as homogenous, as if her father were the template for all Abhorsens. After all, for most of her life she had thought that he was the only one there had ever been. But by listening to Mogget's stories, she soon found that there were many ways to be Abhorsen.

"Petriel was an archer," he said, continuing his long story as they walked back toward the Stone from the river, "She was never any good at swordmanship. She often said that she wished there were a more reliable way to identify herself as Abhorsen, because she hated having to drag that sword around with her."

"I didn't know that there were Abhorsens who didn't use the sword," said Sabriel thoughtfully, "It always seemed like such an important part of what we are."

Mogget stared at her as he walked. "The sword has never belonged to anyone but an Abhorsen since it was made. That's why it has become a badge of sorts," he said, "But that's idiotic. Just because something always has been doesn't mean it always will be. There was an Abhorsen before the sword was made, and there will be one after the sword has been destroyed, or stolen, or put away in some cellar and forgotten."

Sabriel nodded. "The sword isn't what makes me Abhorsen," she summed up. Then, after a few moments of silence, she said, "But then what does?"

Mogget climbed her leg and leaped into her pack in the blink of an eye, disappearing with a quiet, "That's the question, isn't it?"

Mogget slept for the rest of the short journey, and Sabriel soon found herself back at work. While she tried to convince herself that she was making progress, she had to admit that the Stone remained largely as she had found it. What few minor repairs she had made paled in comparison to the massive damage that had been wrought. She went to bed with a heavy heart whose weight was beginning to become familiar.

It didn't cheer her up when, as dusk settled, she began to hear the shuffling and grunting of the Dead circling the town. Even now they were wary of her; they remembered her initial onslaught and the trap she had set for them on the first night. But their numbers were still formidable. Too formidable to risk a battle. Even after her rests by the river, Sabriel was never at full strength these days, and she didn't dare face the army of Dead alone. And as long as they were content to circle her and snarl, she didn't have to.

With some effort, she blocked out their noise and went to sleep.

In the morning, she put off work to eat breakfast and listen to more of Mogget's stories. "Where was I?" he mumbled between bites of fish, "Right. Petriel. She trained her cousin's son. It took her forever to figure out that he was the Abhorsen-in-Waiting. She expected it to be one of her brother's children, but sometimes the lineage skips around a bit. At certain points in history, when the Abhorsen's family was large, there were many candidates for the job."

"How did they know which was the true Abhorsen-in-Waiting?" Sabriel asked, "Why didn't Petriel just train one of her nieces or nephews?"

"She tried," said Mogget, "But if a person isn't meant for the job, it becomes clear fairly fast. Not that plenty of Abhorsens haven't trained the wrong person by mistake. Denial can be powerful."

Sabriel mulled it over for a while, then said, "I suppose I won't have that problem. I'm the last, so my successor will have to be one of my children. I hope I can stay alive long enough to train them. I mean, when am I going to have time to get pregnant? And now…" She didn't bring it up because she thought Mogget would make fun of her, but she now wondered who the father or her children might be, if not Touchstone. Would she ever meet another man who she could love as much as him? Did such a man exist? For a moment, their prior quarrels seemed so small beside her loneliness.

Despite her silence, Mogget seemed to be reading her mind. "It wouldn't be that difficult," he said, "Plenty of Abhorsens have done their job while pregnant. As for conceiving, well, that's easy, isn't it? There are plenty of willing men, and it's not as if you don't know how it's done."

"Don't be crude," Sabriel huffed as she stood and turned away from Mogget. She had always thought of having children as something she might do one day, far in the future. She didn't want to think about doing it right now, and she found that she didn't want to think about bearing anyone's children but Touchstone's.

But that was no longer an option, was it?

"Ignore me if you want," said Mogget, "But you'd better start thinking about it. You need an apprentice, and the longer you wait to make one the younger they'll be when you die."

That was a chilling thought, and though Sabriel tried to tune Mogget out, his words were still ringing in her ears when she laid her hands on the Stone. It seemed sluggish today, less responsive. Was it because she was distracted? Or had she reached the end of her ability to repair it?

She stepped back, took a deep breath, and refocused. Nothing changed. She wasn't imagining it then; her impossible task really was becoming even more difficult. It was as if the Stone needed something more, something that she wasn't giving it.

After a long morning of trying to work out what it was she was missing, she stepped back with a sigh. Even after releasing her focus on the Stone, it took her a moment to realize that she and Mogget were not alone.

A revenant stood to her right. It was so close that if she and it both reached out their hands, they might barely touch.

Sabriel flinched and drew her sword with an undignified yelp before she realized that the revenant was still outside her Diamond. It just stood there, studying her. Daring her to do something about its presence. It was so close to the edge of her Diamond that she imagined it must have crept up slowly, gaining confidence with every step. Now its toes nearly touched the glowing line.

She whirled on Mogget. "You might have warned me that I had an audience," she said, fighting to keep her voice from shaking after her shock.

Mogget shrugged, a gesture that looked strange on a cat. "He's not bothering you."

Sabriel could tell that Mogget would be no help. She was almost certain that he wanted the Dead to attack. It would put her in a life-or-death situation, and she might be tempted to loose his collar. She had started to see Mogget as a friend over the last several weeks, listening to his stories, but she had to remind herself of what he was.

With a motion so fast that the revenant had no time to jump back, Sabriel leaped, slashed, and separated its head from its neck. Only the blade of her sword passed over the line of her Diamond, leaving the glowing border intact. "You're right," she told Mogget, "He's not."

Her voice was still, but fear was rising beneath the surface. Even with her trips to the river, she was slowly weakening. And now the Dead were becoming bold. How long would it take before they realized that, in her condition, she was no match for their combined strength?

She was tired, an impossible task lay before her, Touchstone was beyond her reach, her only ally hoped for her death, and now her enemies drew in for the kill.

But even with the weight of all her worries on her, what else could she do but step back up to the hated Stone. The work was harder than ever, as if the Stone were actually fighting her. All her frustration and fear boiled into rage against it. Didn't it want to be repaired? What was she doing wrong?

Instead of backing off and taking a different strategy like she had always done, she impulsively pushed back against the Stone's resistance. It had tormented her for weeks. Now she would fix it even if it killed her. She poured all her strength into it, all her desperation, and all her longing to leave this place and go… where? Home? Where was that? Abhorsen's House was the natural answer, but it seemed unbearably lonely without…

Touchstone.

At the moment that she thought of him and remembered the rift that lay between them, the Stone seemed to sense her despair. The Charter pulsed angrily under her hand so strongly that it was almost as if the Stone were moving.

"Look out!" Mogget hissed, and suddenly Sabriel realized that the Stone really was moving. She leaped back just in time to see the two halves of it slide against each other like the two blades of a pair of scissors until the once-small gap between them grew wide. Wider and wider it grew, until the halves came to rest at right angles to each other, a letter V standing out of the earth.

There was no hope of bringing the pieces back together. Sabriel's heart sank even lower than she thought possible as it came to her that the Stone was truly irreparable now. She had broken it for good. And with it, she had broken her promise to the village of High Rock.

She didn't even have time to worry about breaking the news to them before she heard the Dead stir. They could sense that the Stone, which Sabriel had been slowly repairing, was even more broken than it had been before. They came for her. So fast, and more of them than she had expected, they came in a howling mob. And even if she had had the strength to resist them, she no longer had the will. She had failed in her task, she had failed at love, and she had failed as an Abhorsen. In that moment, she welcomed death.

"Take off my collar," Mogget suggested as the Dead approached.

Sabriel's hands didn't move from their sides. She didn't reach for Mogget's collar or even for her sword.

Wordlessly, she waited for the end.

"Forward! Forward! We've got the drop on them!"

At first Sabriel thought she had imagined the voice. Then she looked up to see a flash of swords as a squadron of men and women in the colors of Belisaere descended on the Dead. The mob of revenants was taken so completely by surprise that they never even reached Sabriel's Diamond. After a short, fierce battle, the few Dead who survived ran howling back to the woods.

As a few of the soldiers whooped and gave chase, and as the rest of them celebrated their victory with cheers and laughter, Sabriel stood stunned. The turn of events had been so sudden and so unexpected that her mind was still adjusting to being alive.

"Looks like we arrived just in the nick of time," boomed the voice that had first given the call to arms. And as the soldiers parted to make a path for the giant who now approached the center of the square, Sabriel belatedly recognized it.

The one who had saved her was Karstel.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sabriel talks to Karstel, and has an epiphany.

It took Sabriel's mind several seconds to catch up with what had just happened. She stood staring with an uncharacteristically dumbfounded expression until Karstel scuffed her toe in the dirt and cleared her throat. "Maybe you could let me inside your Diamond so I can greet you properly, milady?"

"Oh, of course," said Sabriel, finally collecting herself. She dissipated the Diamond of Protection with a wave of her hand.

Immediately she knew who the Charter Mages were among Karstel's soldiers. Though everyone shuddered as they felt the effects of the Stone, five or six suddenly turned green and looked distinctly uncomfortable. One man dropped to his knees and retched.

Karstel was no mage, but even she scratched the back of her neck as if something were bothering her. She noticed her soldiers' reactions to the Stone, saw how tired Sabriel looked, and make a snap decision. "Make camp north of town, far enough so that the mages can sleep," she ordered. Then she turned to Sabriel. "Would you walk with me, Abhorsen?"

The concern in Karstel's voice was welcome, but it also made Sabriel begin to feel a little guilty. Mere minutes ago, she had been ready to give up everything – her life, her duty, her bloodline – in a moment of weakness. Now that the moment was gone, she could see how pathetic it had been to contemplate going down without so much as a fight. Her eyes flicked to Karstel's; did she understand that the charge she had led was not so much adding reinforcements to a battle as it was interrupting a suicide attempt? No. Sabriel saw only trust and respect in Karstel's gaze. She would never have believed Sabriel capable of such a thing. That blind faith was as much a relief was it was a burden.

"Yes," was all Sabriel said. She didn't trust her voice to say anything more.

The two of them walked in silence away from the town, in the opposite direction that Karstel's squad had taken. Once she had had some time to compose herself, Sabriel began to speak. "I don't want to seem ungrateful after such a spectacularly-timed rescue," she said, "But what are you doing here?"

Karstel seemed honestly hurt by the question. "I've always been sure to show you the proper respect," she said, "But I thought we were friends too. Friends enough, at least, that I deserved to know when you left Belisaere. You didn't even say goodbye." Then, before Sabriel could apologize, Karstel covered her show of emotion with her usual straightforward tone, "We're on our way to Chasel. Their representatives can't leave the city while their roads are blocked by Dead. It's our job to clear the roads and escort them to Belisaere to negotiate with the King." Then Karstel smiled self-consciously as she said, "But you were not too far out of our way, and I thought…"

The little detour Karstel had taken to visit Sabriel was probably the closest she had come to disobeying an order since the beginning of her service. Sabriel smiled in return. "I'm very glad you did," she said. Then, before she could stop herself, she blurted out, "How's Touchstone? I mean Torrigan. I mean… well, how is he?"

Karstel's face darkened. "That's the other reason I came to find you," she admitted, "I came to beg you to come back."

Sabriel was shaking her head before Karstel had even finished speaking. "You know what it was like those last few months," she said, "It's better this way."

"Not for him," said Karstel vehemently, "You don't know what it's been like since you left. He's gotten worse. I can't reach him at all. He disappears for days on end and comes back looking like death. He won't eat; he barely sleeps. We've been hiding the sorry state of affairs from the public, but the truth is that everything's gone to hell."

Sabriel had hoped that she wasn't petty enough to take comfort from Touchstone's misery, but nevertheless she felt a guilty stab of pleasure at knowing that Touchstone needed her. "Well," she said, not ready to concede the point, "He was acting strangely for months before I left. It might not have anything to do with me."

"He's confided in me," Karstel admitted, "He says that if you don't come back, he'll die."

Sabriel raised an eyebrow.

Karstel rolled her eyes in response. "So he's being melodramatic. At least he's sorry."

Suddenly, suspicion crept into Sabriel's mind. "Did he send you here to bring me back?" she demanded.

When she answered, Karstel's voice was so frank that Sabriel believed her. "No," she said, "In fact, he told me to leave you alone. I don't think he wants you knowing how bad off he is. Or at least, he doesn't want you to come back just because you feel obligated."

"I don't feel obligated," said Sabriel, though she knew it was a lie. If Touchstone was setting himself on a self-destructive course in her absence, it could affect the whole Kingdom and everything they'd worked for. But she tried not to think about it. She couldn't pretend to forgive him just because of what was at stake. Whether he meant it that way or not, that would be the same as him holding the Kingdom ransom for her love. She tried to make her voice cold and hard as she said, "If he's making himself miserable now, that's his own problem. He shouldn't have pushed me away in the first place."

Karstel frowned, but she didn't argue. Instead, she said, "And I suppose you're doing just fine?" in a tone that made it obvious that she knew that Sabriel was anything but fine.

"I am, as a matter of fact," Sabriel lied once more, "Except for that little ambush you saved me from just now, I've been doing quite well on my own."

Karstel very pointedly glanced at Sabriel's filthy clothes, her slouched posture, the bags under her eyes, and her skin that was somehow even paler than usual. "Of course you have," she said with a straight face.

"I know what you think of me," said Sabriel, suddenly defensive, "That I abandoned him. That I ran off in the night like a coward. That I'm out here making a fool of myself. But there are things I need to do. Things I need to figure out for myself. He never understood that. And even if he's changed, it's just… It's too hard. He fogs things up. He makes things more complicated. Love makes everything more complicated. I need things to be simple right now. That's all there is to it."

"No disrespect, milady," said Karstel slowly, carefully, "But I said before that I consider you a friend. And since we're friends, I can say this: you may be a great mage and a great warrior, but you don't know the first thing about love so don't try to talk like you do. Now here's what I think: his majesty was awfully unfair to you, but he's honestly sorry and he wants to make amends. So it's all in your hands now. You could walk away and no one would fault you for it. It just seems to me that you two love each other so much that it would be a shame not to give it another go."

They walked a while in silence. Sabriel stared at the ground, trying to collect her thoughts. She had spent so much time with all her energy directed at the Stone, and that had helped her put Touchstone almost out of mind. Karstel's presence and her words brought all her uncertainty back. It had been painful, but easy, to write her relationship with Touchstone off as irreparable. It had freed her to leave with impunity and to focus on herself without guilt. But if Touchstone was ready to apologize, then the rift between them became like the Stone of High Bridge: Sabriel could mend it, if she wanted to, and if she was clever enough, and if she was willing to do the work.

A difficult cause was so much scarier than a lost one.

When Karstel stopped walking beside her, Sabriel looked up to find that they had returned to the town square and the Stone. She found that she couldn't tell how long they had been walking.

"But I have to be the Abhorsen now," she sighed, protesting though Karstel had said nothing.

As if she had been following Sabriel's entire thought process, Karstel answered, "And where is it written that the Abhorsen must always be alone?" She clapped a huge hand onto Sabriel's shoulder as she said, "I won't tell you what to do. Just take care of yourself. Don't let this be the last time I see you."

With that, she went to join her soldiers at their camp. They stayed the night, and at first light they rode away toward Chasel. Sabriel wanted to beg Karstel to stay, but she had enough dignity to resist. After all, they both had duties to attend to.

Sabriel was left standing in the empty square with nothing but the Stone and Mogget for company. She allowed herself to feel lonely for a moment, and then she clapped her hands together and said, "Well, back to work."

Except those words did not come out of her mouth. Instead, she sobbed a great, hiccupping sob, sat on the ground, and began to cry.

She hadn't cried as a child when her father had left her in Ancelstierre, nor years later when his messenger had handed her the bells, nor lying on the floor of Wyverley College with a sword through her belly, thinking she was going to die. Any of those moments would have been more worthy of her tears, but for whatever reason this was the moment that the tears chose to come. She cried like someone who is not accustomed to crying, and she had no doubt that she looked and sounded hideous.

Mogget watched her as if he were embarrassed to be seen with her, but he didn't protest until she tried to comfort herself by cuddling him closer to her. "That's quite enough of that," he huffed, avoiding her grasp neatly. It took several minutes before Sabriel managed to get her sobbing under control, and several more before she was able to do anything other than sit in uncomfortable silence.

Mogget was beginning to look bored with the whole affair, and had curled up to go to sleep when Sabriel said, her voice steady now, "Tell me about my father."

"What about him?"

Sabriel narrowed her eyes. "This is where it's all been leading, hasn't it?" she said, "All these stories about all the Abhorsens. Seeing them through your eyes, hearing all your judgments. You'll exist longer than the sword, longer than the bells, longer than my bloodline, and you collect our stories. You remember us. You're the only one who does. So what do you have to say about my father, and what will you have to say about me?"

Mogget was silent for several seconds. Then, almost robotically, "He took the mantle from his aunt when he was seventeen. He was uncommonly skilled with the bells. He was present at the fall of Estwael. When the Regency ended…"

"I know all that," said Sabriel impatiently, "I read his journal. I'm not looking for a biography. I want to know the measure of him. What did you think of him, you who knew all the Abhorsens?"

"Why do you care what I think?" Mogget wondered, "It's not as if I am the official judge of the worth of each Abhorsen."

Sabriel laughed coldly. "That never stopped you from judging us anyway."

"You want me to judge your father?" said Mogget decisively, "Fine. He was a miserable man. He made himself miserable. He blamed himself for his aunt's death, and for Estwael, and for the Regency. He defined himself by his failures, and he shunned anything that could have made him happy. He allowed your mother to get involved in a war that he knew would eventually kill her, and when she died, he was left with you. And you were a problem, because he loved you. You made him proud. You made him happy. That wouldn't do, so he sent you away."

"To protect me!" Sabriel protested, stung by the harshness of Mogget's assessment even though she had anticipated it.

"I'm sure there were lots of good reasons for it," said Mogget, yawning disinterestedly, "But the choice was his, and he made it, and he was lonely and bitter for the rest of his life."

"That's not right," Sabriel insisted, scrambling to her feet and wiping her eyes on the back of her sleeve, "You're twisting the facts."

"I'm telling you the truth," said Mogget with no teasing in his voice, "It's what you asked for; don't blame me if you can't handle it. Isn't this what you wanted to know? How your ancestors lived, so you could be more like them?"

"I was wrong!" Sabriel shouted, "I'm the Abhorsen now, and I'll decide what that means! I'm not my father or any of the others. I don't have to make their mistakes. All I have in common with them is blood!"

Mogget nodded, infuriatingly smug. "Well, that's a start," he said, curling up and falling asleep as if to say his work here was done.

Sabriel seriously considered kicking him like a football when she was suddenly struck by realization.

"Blood," she repeated, softly.

Mogget, who must not have been sleeping very deeply, flicked an eye open. "What was that?" he muttered.

Sabriel smiled, the happiest smile that had graced her face in a long while. "I know how to repair the Stone," she said.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sabriel walks in Death.

Once the thought had come to her, it seemed so simple. Blood for the breaking, and for the mending. A Charter Mage's blood had been spilled here, and her life stolen away. Only a similar sacrifice, made willingly, could undo the damage. Perhaps, for an ordinary mage, the exchange would have to be equal. A life given to negate the life taken.

But Sabriel was no ordinary mage. She was Abhorsen. So she was reasonably certain that this experiment wouldn't kill her.

She drew her sword, and with only a moment of hesitation she drew it across the palm of her hand. She closed her fingers lightly over the welling blood to keep it from spilling onto the ground.

"So you finally figured it out," said Mogget, his eyelids drooping, "Took you long enough."

Ignoring him, and the infuriating implication that he had known the answer all along, Sabriel opened her hand and slapped it against the Stone, right in the middle of the dried bloodstain on the larger of the two halves. For an instant, she had an impression of wetness, of thick red liquid oozing out from under her fingers and splattering around her palm, and then there was only darkness.

She awoke, it seemed, only a moment later. She was flat on her back in shallow water that lapped gently at her cheeks. The aches and pains that had plagued her body for so many weeks had vanished. It was peaceful where she was. Above her all she could see was the night sky, a vision so beautiful that it took her breath away. She could not remember ever seeing so many stars, or seeing them shine so brightly. Not in Life, anyway.

Then she realized where she was, and she sat upright with a gasp and a panicked lurch, shielding her eyes from the light of the stars. She had been here before. This was the Ninth Precinct.

Almost by reflex, Sabriel drew her sword as she shakily found her feet. It was disorienting, having been thrown so deep into Death so quickly, and she felt more secure with steel in her hands. But though she turned a full circle in a defensive stance, looking for whatever being might have dragged her here, she saw nothing. There was only the still water and the bright sky, as far she could see.

"Mogget?" she called, her voice sounding thin to her ears. There was no answer, which did not necessarily mean that she was alone.

That was when she noticed that the water lapping at her legs was tinted ever-so-slightly red. She dipped her hand in it and brought it to her nose. It was only a trace, but it was definitely blood. She cast her eyes about once more. There was no blood in the water anywhere else. It was just a just a ring of brownish-red at her feet, and a ribbon of the same leading away. Sabriel followed it with her eyes. The ribbon snaked through the shallow water of the Ninth Precinct until it passed under an arch of darkness that Sabriel hadn't noticed before. If she squinted, she could see the line of blood continuing past the arch and into the darker waters of the Eighth Precinct.

That was wrong, Sabriel knew. There were no windows between Precincts. It took complex Free Magic to pass each Gate, but somehow the bloody trail had punched a hole clear through the Eighth. Sabriel suddenly had the impression that the disruption would continue through the Seventh, the Sixth, and further, all the way back to Life.

Then, suddenly, it made sense. A broken Stone was a doorway leading both into and out of Death. The blood of the slain mage had marked a path through all nine Precincts. The Dead had been using it to climb out into Life, and now Sabriel had slid down it as far into Death as she could go.

But now that she had found this path, what was she to do with it? Clearly the Stone had reacted to Sabriel's blood-magic, but hardly in the way she had expected. Nervously, Sabriel clenched her fist and was surprised to feel a stab of pain. Physical wounds rarely carried over into Death, but a glance confirmed that the cut across her palm was still present and still oozing blood. She watched as a few drops formed in the creases of her fist, rolled together, and fell off her knuckles into the water.

As soon as the crimson droplets splashed down, the water at Sabriel's feet rapidly swirled and cleared. Sabriel blinked twice, took a step forward into an area of water that was still tainted with blood, and squeezed another drop of her own blood into it. Again, the two stains cancelled each other out, and the water was left clean. One more test – she waded farther up the path and stepped through the dark arch (how strange it was to cross so easily between Precincts!), careful not to spill any more blood as she went. When she was through, she tipped the little pool of blood that had collected in her palm into the water. Nothing happened.

Sabriel took a deep breath, held it as she thought, and exhaled slowly, resigned. So she couldn't break the path in the middle. She had to erase it bit by bit from the end back up, spilling her blood the whole way. No wonder so few Stones were ever repaired once they had been broken. It was a daunting task.

But at least now she knew what she had to do, which was more than she had been able to say for the last several weeks.

She returned to the end of the bloody trail and began her long walk back, flexing her fingers every few seconds and letting her blood wash away the stain from the water at her feet. This time, when she passed through the hole in the Eighth Gate, she watched it close behind her without a sound, leaving no trace that it had ever been there. Sabriel continued with a satisfied smile.

The Eighth Precinct passed unremarkably. Usually Sabriel would have had to keep on guard against the patches of shooting flame, but they seemed to keep their distance from the bloodstained water. Even the Gate didn't touch it; the fiery line ended several feet before each side of the darkened arch. The Seventh Precinct passed similarly, but by then Sabriel was beginning to be on edge. This was a highway out of Death. The Dead had been using it for months. Surely they would not let Sabriel destroy it without a fight. She decided that there was probably an ambush waiting for her in the calm waters of the Sixth Precinct, so as she passed through the Gate she readied her sword and loosened the fasteners on Saraneth and Ranna. She would choose one bell or the other once she discovered whether she was facing a single Greater Dead rester or a mob of weaker Dead.

To her surprise, she found neither. The Sixth Precinct was as calm as the Seventh. Now, instead of enjoying her peaceful walk through Death, Sabriel found herself jumping at every splash and whisper as the sounds of her passing echoed in the empty Precinct. If the Dead were not waiting for her here, then where? She crept nervously through the still, shallow water, wondering when something might jump out at her. She made it nearly to the next Gate before she figured out what was happening.

She would have to pass through the Fifth Precinct next, walking the narrow path above the soul-sapping lake. The denizens who guarded this broken Stone had planned for this; instead of battling the Abhorsen on even footing in the Sixth Precinct, they intended to meet her on the narrow bridge over the Fifth and let her fall to her death.

She passed through the hole in the Fifth Gate, closed it behind her, and turned to face whatever might come.

At first, nothing did. The balance beam that stretched over the black waters of the Fifth Precinct was stained with dried blood; Sabriel dropped some of her own onto it and it liquefied, dripped into the water below, and was gone. She took another step and did the same. One more step, and another, waiting for the ambush that she knew must come.

It was almost a relief when she felt a clammy tendril wrap itself around her ankle and try to pull her into the water. At least now the waiting was over, and the fight had begun.

With a slash of her sword, the tendril fell away from her foot. Sabriel barely had time to find her balance before three more shot out and wrapped themselves around her neck and wrists. She wrenched one hand free and went for her bells, but as she glanced out over the bridge she saw that she was in trouble. Black shapes were crawling out of the darkness, dripping with the soul-sapping water they had bathed in. They draped themselves over the bridge, one climbing on top of the other, an unmovable mass of Dead blocking her way.

Sabriel rang Ranna, but its effect was so diluted over all the many Dead that it only slowed them down a little. Then they were upon her, and it was all Sabriel could do to stay upright on her narrow footing. They tore at her and suffocated her, dragging her downwards from all angles. For every one she cut down, three more took its place. And now she could feel their clammy appendages grasping at her arms and body, trying to rip the sword from her grip and the bells from her chest. She was losing. She was going to lose.

Suddenly the enormity of it hit her. She had been such a fool to come here, thinking that she could succeed. Now she would fall, and her soul would be dragged under. How long would it take for the waters here to corrupt her? A year? Months? Weeks? If she became submerged in that water, sooner or later the last of the Abhorsens would become the newest of the Greater Dead. She imagined crawling back out of Death by the same path she had tried to destroy. Perhaps her body would still be waiting for her there. Perhaps the creature that was no longer Sabriel would wear her skin and walk unmolested into the Great Hall of the castle at Belisaere, and there…

"NOOO!" Sabriel's voice was cracked and desperate as she redoubled her efforts. Free and Charter Magic flew from her lips, spells she didn't even know she knew holding the Dead just barely at bay. She flailed and fought, protecting her weapons from the grabbing hands that came at her from all sides. And, though those many hands still held her back and pulled her down, she moved forward.

Each step was a battle. The Dead screamed venom into her ears and tore at her body, but she overpowered them by magic and sword, and took another step. She no longer had to squeeze the wound on her hand in order to spill her blood on the path; she bled freely from many wounds, and the waters all around were washed with sprays of red from both her and her opponents.

A gap in the mass of Dead gave her a glimpse of the arch into the relative safety of the Fourth Precinct ahead of her. She was so close. It was amazing how far she had come by small steps, fueled only by her own innate determination and the horror of what would happen if she should fail. But even with the passage only ten steps, then nine, then eight, then just an arm's reach in front of her, it didn't matter. Sabriel had reached the end of her strength. One last breathless reach passed the tips of her fingers through the arch, and then the Dead were dragging her back, undoing her hard-won steps, pushing and pulling and trying to topple her from her path…

"Abhorsen!" A clear voice called out to her, and then suddenly Sabriel's hand was caught in a grip like a vice. She almost tried to shake it off, but then she realized that unlike the rough, clammy hands of the Dead that were all over her now, the hand that now held hers was warm and dry. She gripped it in return, and with an explosion of power it pulled her forward and up, out of the hands of the Dead, almost off her feet, and through the arch that bridged the Fourth Gate. Blood fell from her clothes and hair as she passed through and closed the arch after her, trapping the Dead on the other side of the Gate. Their screaming and the grotesque sounds of the movement of their corrupted bodies were suddenly cut off, and it was silent.

It took Sabriel several seconds of kneeling, gasping in horror at her close call and wonderment at her sudden salvation, before she realized that she was still holding someone's hand. Her eyes traced up her savior's fingers to her arm to her face, at which point Sabriel finally understood. If the spindly little old woman's ceremonial jewelry hadn't given away her identity, the bleeding gash across her neck would have.

"The Mage of High Bridge," Sabriel choked out, still reeling.

"That's right," said the woman, "I'm Merida. You're kind of an idiot, aren't you?"

Sabriel stared, but Merida's voice held no malice. In fact, she was grinning a little. Sabriel was used to speaking to the Dead, but not to being teased by them. "Er…" she tried to reply, "I'm Abhorsen. But I guess you knew that already."

Merida helped Sabriel to her feet. The waters of the Fourth Precinct were calm and quiet. Sabriel's instincts told her to be on the lookout for the next wave that would soon come crashing through the Precinct, but Merida didn't seem concerned. "Yes," she said, "I'm very glad you're here, even though it looks like you came without much of a plan. That's why I stuck around instead of going on deeper into Death. I thought that if anyone was stupid enough to try to repair the Stone, they'd need my help." She smiled so widely that the muscles in her neck tensed, drawing the slit in her throat open a little. Sabriel suppressed a shudder. "Not that anyone ever tries to repair broken Stones, but I stayed anyway," Merida added.

"Then I'm very glad you did," said Sabriel, turning her death-grip on Merida's hand into a warm handshake before letting go, "I'm not too proud to admit that I was in trouble."

Merida smiled again, a strange expression on so corpselike a face. "The way ahead is clear," she assured Sabriel, "Let me walk you back into Life."

Walking through Death with Merida was a singular experience. Sabriel had not had friendly company in Death since her father's lessons. Having a companion, even a dead one, reminded her of a time when she felt safe and secure in the knowledge that someone more competent than she was taking care of things. That time, after all, would never come again.

"I peered out through the break in the Stone," Merida admitted, "Though I dared not walk back into Life, I watched the Dead rise. I watched my people leave. How many yet live?"

"As many as can fit onto the Bridge," said Sabriel, "That's where they've taken refuge."

Merida nodded, satisfied. "That's what I would have done. And my sister?"

Sabriel was about to ask how she could possibly be expected to remember individual people from the mob on the Bridge, and how she was to know which was Merida's kin, when she suddenly realized why Merida's face looked so familiar. "Oh!" she said, "The old woman who was in charge. You look just like her!" Well, not just like her. Merida was considerably skinnier, her hair longer and wilder, and her face darker and more heavily lined. But even a lifetime of wear could not completely hide the fact that the two faces had once been a matching set.

Merida laughed then, a laugh that may have been merry in life but now only sounded like an echo. "It takes you a while, but you catch on eventually," she teased, "Pashiel is my twin. So she lives. Good. That's good to know."

"But she's not a Charter Mage," Sabriel observed as she wrung blood from her hair and clothes into the water at her feet, "I thought that if one twin had the talent, that the other would as well. Why wasn't she trained?"

Merida replied, "Oh, she had a talent for Charter Magic same as me. But she was trained in other ways. She was the firstborn, so it was her duty to lead the town. Our father trained her as his successor, as my aunt trained me as hers. Pashiel became the ruler of High Bridge, and I became its Mage."

"That seems… arbitrary," said Sabriel.

Merida shrugged. "It worked well enough," she said, "We each had our role to play, and we did our duty. And even better, we never forgot that we were two sides of the same coin. Authority and power. Together, we made High Bridge flourish. Alone, we would have been forces for good, but together we were unstoppable. And when I was killed, the town fell into ruin, just as it would have if Pashiel had taken my place. Together, we might have stood against the Dead. Divided, we failed."

As Sabriel walked through the penultimate arch into the First Precinct, she tried not to think of how Merida's story might apply to her. Instead, she squeezed from her wounds the last few drops of blood necessary to erase the stain in the water all the way up to the border to Life. She peered through the final arch, and though it was like looking through a fractured haze, she thought she could see her body waiting there.

"Thank you," she said to Merida, "In saving me, you have saved much more than a single life."

Merida gave her one last smile. "A single life would have been enough. Go well, Abhorsen."

As Merida began to turn, beginning her long walk back into Death, Sabriel called out, "Do you want me to carry a message to your sister?"

Merida hesitated, then said, "No, thank you. In life, we left nothing unsaid." With that, her soul melted into the now-pure water and was carried swiftly downstream.

Sabriel took the final step back into Life, back into pain and uncertainty and Mogget's trying company, and with it she closed the final door that had been propped open by dark magic and Merida's blood. She had no sooner returned to her body than a shockwave bowled her over, and a light bright enough to sear her eyes burst forth from the Stone.

She scrambled to her feet, and at once she realized that all the aches and pains that had plagued her since setting foot in High Bridge were gone. Gone also was the despair and unease she had grappled with for so long. A healing warmth radiated from the Stone, and Sabriel was renewed within its glow. The Stone itself stood as it had when she had left it – standing in two pieces at right angles, awkward and ugly. But now the pieces were fused at the bottom, the seam between them erased. Charter marks flowed over its surface like water, dancing and bright.

The Stone would never look as it had before it was broken. It would always bear the scar of what had happened to it. But it shone with the Charter as brightly as ever. It would keep the Dead at bay. It would keep the town alive.

Mogget didn't say a word as Sabriel rolled up her bedroll and packed her things. He sat passively by as she wrapped the cut on her hand – the one wound that was left on her body. It was only when Sabriel invited him to ride on her pack with a cheerful, "Come on then," that he moved at all.

"Yes, Abhorsen," he said, leaping onto her shoulder. And for once, his voice held a measure of respect.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sabriel returns home.

When Sabriel returned to the Bridge where the townspeople had once huddled, miserable and hopeless, the scene had changed considerably. There was noise now, of movement and conversation. The people had spread out onto the banks on either side of the river, and they were packing what few belongings they had retained. There was an air of optimism about them now.

As Sabriel approached, a great cheer went up that did not stop for several minutes.

The old woman Sabriel had met before, who she now knew to be Pashiel, ran forward to greet her. "We saw the flash of light from the Stone," she said breathlessly, "And the Dead who remained in the woods have all fled. We knew you had succeeded. It's a miracle! Abhorsen, we are forever in your debt."

Sabriel took the woman's frail hands and said, "You owe me nothing. It was my duty and my pleasure to help you." She hadn't thought that she would ever be able to describe those awful weeks she had spent hard at work on the Stone as a pleasure, but now she changed her mind. The sight of the people of High Bridge setting out to reclaim their homes, of children running through grass for the first time in who-knew-how-long, of shell-shocked silence transformed into joyful noise, suddenly convinced her that it had all been worth it.

"Please," said Pashiel, "You must let us give you something for your trouble. It would be disgraceful to let you go without payment."

Sabriel was about to refuse again when she suddenly stopped. She thought for a moment, then said, "There is something you can do for me."

"Anything."

"Declare your allegiance and send your support to King Torrigan," she said.

The smile left Pashiel's face as she considered this for a moment, then she said, "If the Abhorsen trusts him, then that's good enough for me. Let it be known that High Bridge recognizes Torrigan as King of the Old Kingdom. We have no soldiers or supplies to spare, but when we do we will send a token of our support."

"I cannot ask for more," said Sabriel, putting an expansive hand on Pashiel's shoulder, "Now, allow me to escort you home. I think you will be interested to hear about a certain someone who saved my life while I walked in Death."

Sabriel did not stay in High Bridge for long. As soon as it became clear that Pashiel and her people would thrive in their now-protected home, Sabriel quietly took to the road once more.

She walked easily and confidently, as she had when she first left Belisaere, stopping only occasionally to feed Mogget and herself. She walked as far as she could before she came to the final fork in the road that would force her to choose a destination. North, to Belisaere? Or South and East, to Abhorsen's House?

After she had stood staring at the fork for nearly ten minutes, Mogget popped his head out of her pack and nosed her ear. "Are you waiting for someone to make the choice for you?" he sighed.

"I need to go home," said Sabriel quietly.

Mogget huffed as he said, "I notice you've worded it so to be completely unhelpful. Where do you consider your home to be?"

"That's the question, isn't it?" Sabriel muttered. Then, even more quietly, "I miss him so much that it physically hurts. I didn't even know that was possible."

"Then go back to him," said Mogget, the picture of practicality.

"How do I know if that's the right choice?" she asked.

"You don't," said Mogget, "You never do. If you didn't already know that, then there's little I can do to help you. Now leave me alone. You have been exceedingly trying lately, and my job description does not extend to being a consultant on your love life." With that, he curled up and very pointedly went to sleep.

Sabriel stood a while in thought. She was reminded of what she had said to all those ambassadors back at the castle, when they had expressed doubt or reluctance.

"Choose."

The Old Kingdom had a choice to make, and so did Sabriel.

So she made it, and began to walk northward.

When she arrived in Belisaere, the weather was beginning to change. There was a chill in the air that hadn't been there when she left. As she walked through the capitol, she pulled a traveling cloak around her to try to hide her identity as best she could. It didn't matter. She was recognized and greeted at every turn, and by the time she reached the castle the outpost guards were clearly on the lookout for her. They welcomed her with raised swords and happy shouts. Sabriel saluted them in return, glad to see her friends again.

She didn't even need to request entry as she normally did. As she approached the heavy main doors to the castle, they crashed open, and Sabriel had to leap back to avoid being hit in the face. However, she could not avoid the thick arms that flew from between the doors to sweep her up in a bone-crushing embrace.

"Hello, Karstel," Sabriel managed to choke out.

"Thank the Nine you're back!" Karstel bellowed into her ear, "He won't listen to me. He won't eat. He won't sleep. You have to talk sense into him!" Then she put Sabriel down, brushed her off embarrassedly, and added, "It's also very good to see you again, milady."

After her travels, Sabriel had been looking forward to a hot bath and a long rest, but the urgency in Karstel's voice quickly rearranged her priorities. "Where is he?" she asked.

And then, in a flash of insight that should have come to her long ago, Sabriel suddenly knew what Karstel was going to say before the words left her lips.

Minutes later, she was descending a staircase that she had ever only had cause to use twice before: the staircase that led to the underground chamber housing the ruins of the Great Charter Stones. The first time she used it, she had gone to save her father. The second time, she had returned to recover his corpse. Now she padded down the cold stone steps one more time, fighting the familiar rise of bile deep in her throat.

Of course this was where Touchstone had gone. Of course he was trying to repair the Great Stones. Sabriel mentally chastised herself for every time she had seen the tired, wrecked expression on his face without realizing what he was putting himself through. Didn't she know him best of all? Wasn't it just like him to throw himself at a task without worrying about his own safety, using himself up without so much as reaching out for help?

She stopped and leaned against the stairwell for a moment, heaving ragged breaths. The corruption here was so much greater than at the ordinary Stone she had repaired in High Bridge. It crushed her. It made the rock under her feet tilt and sway. She hated it here. After leaving this place for the second time, she had hoped that she would never have to return. It would never in a thousand years have occurred to her to try to repair the damage here. It was bigger than her. Bigger than Touchstone. It was impossible.

But then, she and Touchstone had both proved the impossible possible before.

A few more stairs, and she was rounding the corner into the great chamber. The light was dim, but she could clearly see the spires of the Stones standing in the center of the shallow lake. There was a figure at the base of the largest one: a human form, crumpled and shivering. Touchstone. Sabriel almost feared the worst before he raised his head at her approach.

"Sabriel!" His eyes lit up, hardly daring to believe what they were seeing. But by the time Sabriel reached him, wading out of the water and onto the platform that held the ruined Stones, he had composed himself. He seemed to remember that he was no longer greeting a lover, but acknowledging a fellow scion of the Charter. "Abhorsen," he corrected himself.

Sabriel knelt before him and reached out to touch the face she knew so well, which was now lined and darkened with pain, exhaustion, and despair. As if no time had passed at all, as if nothing had ever changed, she leaned forward and kissed him.

With one touch it occurred to Sabriel that she had been falling, and Touchstone's kiss had caught her. She had been wandering in the desert, and his kiss was the ocean. She had been buried in snow, and his kiss was fire.

She said, her lips still brushing his, "You can call me Sabriel."

She joined him in reclining against the Great Stone, settling herself down with an uncomfortable sigh. She thought she could feel the corruption of the Charter creeping over the skin of her back. It made her shiver, but she didn't dare complain. Touchstone had endured it for much longer than she had, after all. The layers of dried blood smeared on the Stone above him and the rows of scars on his arms in various stages of healing (ranging from faint to still-bleeding) spoke volumes about how long and hard he had worked at this task.

She tried to gather her thoughts, to put them into the words that would make him understand all that she had learned in the time that she had been gone and all that she felt at that moment. She settled on, "You are such an idiot."

Touchstone smiled as though he understood perfectly. "It's been said," he replied weakly.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sabriel demanded.

"Telling you would have been the same as asking for your help," said Touchstone," I couldn't ask you to come back down here. Not after what happened."

He looked so fragile, and his voice was so pained. Sabriel resisted the urge to reach out to him and cradle his body against hers. After all, despite the kiss, he didn't belong to her anymore. She settled for moving her hand over enough so that their fingers could entwine. "But if I had only understood…" she sighed, "It would have saved us so much trouble."

Touchstone gripped her hand gratefully. "Perhaps not so much," he said, "This wasn't the only thing working against us. Think about it. We had expectations for ourselves, and for each other, that we couldn't meet. Would you really have stayed, even if you had known?"

Sabriel was silent as she thought. Maybe she would have stayed, and maybe not. But either way, she was glad she had gone. Her time away from Belisaere had given her a clarity of purpose that she had been missing. "You still should have told me. If I need you to protect me from something, I'll ask."

"I'll always protect you," Touchstone promised, the chivalry evident in his voice even though he was so weak that he could barely speak above a whisper, "If I'm worthy of you, you should never need to ask."

"If you're worthy of me," said Sabriel definitively, "You should respect me enough not to keep things from me."

"You're right," he said, his voice getting weaker as he slumped against her shoulder, "I'm sorry." At first Sabriel thought he was trying to embrace her, but she soon realized that he simply couldn't hold himself upright anymore.

Sabriel stood with an awkward motion, her hands on Touchstone's shoulders to keep him from falling. "What do you say we get out of here?" she suggested.

"Yes, please," he mumbled in reply, grasping her wrist and letting her pull him upright.

Though he had seemed on the verge of passing out, Touchstone brightened with each step they took out of that hellhole. By the time they emerged from the top of the staircase, he no longer needed to lean on Sabriel. He did, however, keep a hold on her hand.

"Did you repair the Stone at High Bridge?" he asked, his voice clearer now.

"Yes," said Sabriel, "Though it took me weeks to think of using my own blood. You seem to have worked that out too."

"Weeks ago," he confirmed, "But it doesn't seem to be making a difference. The damage is just so great. It's hard to imagine that it will ever be repaired."

Sabriel spoke without thinking, "I'll help you."

Touchstone only smiled, and when he said, "No," he didn't sound like he was being stubborn or petulant. He sounded as though he had thought this through. "Royal blood for Royal blood," he said, "This is my task. You have enough of your own."

"That's true," Sabriel sighed, her heart sinking at the thought, "Belisaere is flourishing, but everywhere else there are still so many Dead. So many broken Stones."

"With more still being broken," Touchstone added, "It's too much. How can we fight this? How can we survive?"

Sabriel tightened her grip on his hand and pressed closer to him, lending him her strength. "By working together," she said, "By outweighing the bad with good. By outweighing the destruction with our repairs."

"Then we'll be repairing things for the rest of our lives," Touchstone observed dryly.

"That's the idea," said Sabriel, "Or did you think it would be easy?"

"Is it worth it to you?" he asked, and for a moment Sabriel couldn't remember if they were talking about the Kingdom or something else entirely.

It didn't matter. The answer was the same either way. "Of course," she said, "Of course it is."

They had made their way into the upper levels of the castle, but somehow they had encountered no guards. Sabriel got the impression that Karstel might be ensuring that they be left alone.

Touchstone must have gotten the same impression, because he finally asked outright what had clearly been on his mind. "Abhorsen," he said, "Sabriel. Did you come back for me?"

She had made her choice. She had made it days ago, and yet somehow the question sucked the air out of the hall. "I…" she started to say before she choked on her words. She stopped walking, and let go of Touchstone's hand. He leaned against the wall, looking nervous as he waited patiently for her to collect her thoughts.

Sabriel paced for several minutes, choosing her words carefully, before she said, "Yes. I came back for you. But I didn't crawl back. I wasn't wrong to leave, understand? I chose to leave, and I chose to return, and somewhere in between I figured out what I want. Royalty and Abhorsen and the Kingdom aside, I want…"

And then her face flushed unexpectedly as she continued, "I want you. I want to marry you, Torrigan. One day. But for now, we just need to focus on making this work. I'll be with you whenever I can, but I still have a job to do - a job that's every bit as important as yours. And even after we're married, I'll always be the Abhorsen first, and the Queen second. If there's any part of that you can't accept, then we shouldn't be together." Her heart pounded as she waited for his answer, but she knew she had to hold her ground. This was too important to give even an inch.

Luckily, she didn't have to. The relief on Touchstone's face melted her heart. "Are you joking?" he laughed, running a shaking hand through his hair, "I'll take you any way I can have you. Whether you marry me or not, whether you can be here with me or not, I don't care. I just need to know that you still love me. That you'll always come back to me. And for goodness's sake, call me Touchstone."

"I do love you," she said, "Of course I do. Touchstone."

She couldn't tell whether she had fallen into his arms or he into hers, but suddenly they were embracing as if no time had passed at all. He clung to her like a drowning man clings to a piece of driftwood. Her head rested on his shoulder, and of their own accord her arms wrapped themselves around him, pulling him into her. Her body remembered him, his shape, his smell, his taste. She had missed this. Suddenly her armor, in which she had come to feel so at home, felt thick and cumbersome. Anything that separated his body from hers was nothing but a hindrance.

He spoke into her ear in a voice that was surprisingly awkward and unsure. "I… I suppose we still have some things to discuss," he stammered, "We'll talk tomorrow. Should I have someone prepare a guest room for you?"

She loosened her hold enough to turn her head and kiss him. "Don't be stupid," she said. Linking arms with him, she led him toward his bedroom. That night, there would be no appearances to maintain, no duties to uphold. She would have no rank or title. The future could fall as it may, but that night she would sleep beside the man she loved as herself, as Sabriel, and enjoy a rare moment of happiness in an uncertain world.


End file.
